Part 35 (1/2)

A sob of relief came from the darkness.

'Lu, do you have the lantern?'

'Yes.'

'Can you turn it on, baby? So I can see you? So we can talk?'

She hesitated, then he heard her fumble around in the darkness, sniffing back tears. He was careful not to make a move while she was distracted; she sounded brittle enough to snap at any moment.

The lantern glowed an unnatural white beside her, and made her haggard face look ghostly, while the knife in her hand glittered.

He saw the cut on her swollen lip.

'Lucy! What happened? Did you fall? There's blood in the bathroom.'

She touched her lip with one shaking finger. 'You did this, Jonas. When you hit me.'

'What?'

Lucy's voice was small and childlike. 'Earlier tonight.'

'I never hit you, Lu! I never would! would! What the h.e.l.l's going on?' What the h.e.l.l's going on?'

'You don't remember,' she whispered.

'Lucy, please, you're scaring me. Please tell me what's happened. Why are you up here? Did he come back? Did he hurt you, Lu?'

'Who?'

'The killer! The man I chased out of the back door! Did he come back? Lucy, tell tell me!' me!'

'You don't remember,' she said. 'You don't remember what happened. You were somebody else.'

'Lucy, I'm me. I'm just me.'

He didn't know what else to say. Lucy must have taken something. He didn't want to engage in some weird drug-induced conversation with her. He was the protector. He needed to get her to come out of the attic with him and downstairs so he could check her over and get her to vomit. Maybe he'd have to take her to hospital. The Land Rover might make it.

'Lu, I'm coming up, OK?'

'No!'

'Sweetheart, I have to, I--'

'NO! Stay there! Stay there!'

He stopped again, still on the ladder but now more in the attic than out of it.

She tried to control the wobble in her voice. 'Jonas, you have to listen to me. Please.'

'I'm listening,' he said, although really he was wondering if he could rush her, or whether it might be dangerous with her waving that knife around in front of her.

'Jonas,' she began - then started to cry. 'Jonas, I think you lost your b.u.t.ton the night you killed Margaret Priddy.'

'Lucy!--'

'Listen! You said you'd listen to me!' said you'd listen to me!'

'I am,' he said, and this time he really was.

'It wasn't really you, Jonas. I know you'd never, ever ever hurt anyone. I don't just believe it, I hurt anyone. I don't just believe it, I know know it. But I think some ... it. But I think some ... part part of you killed Margaret and Yvonne and the others. I don't know why, but you've been under such pressure, Jonas! Your parents and the job and then me, being such a burden to you ... And then ... and then when I couldn't even of you killed Margaret and Yvonne and the others. I don't know why, but you've been under such pressure, Jonas! Your parents and the job and then me, being such a burden to you ... And then ... and then when I couldn't even kill kill myself ...' Lucy trailed off, but gathered herself up again and went on. 'I know how scared you were, Jonas. I saw it on your face! You were like a frightened little boy, like a--' myself ...' Lucy trailed off, but gathered herself up again and went on. 'I know how scared you were, Jonas. I saw it on your face! You were like a frightened little boy, like a--'

'Shut up!'

Lucy stopped, shocked, at Jonas's words, which came out with a thick, low vehemence she'd never heard from him before.

'Jonas?' she said cautiously.

'Shut up! You'll wake him!'

Lucy swayed in disbelief. The voice was not Jonas's. It was rougher and older, and his face had changed. Lucy sought the softness in Jonas's eyes and found only black nothingness.

'Who's there?' she whispered.

'None of your business,' he snapped.

'Who will I wake up?'

'The boy. We let him sleep.'

'Who's we?'

'Me and Jonas. Although he's he's been been no no f.u.c.king use. Won't do his job.' f.u.c.king use. Won't do his job.'

Lucy caught her breath.

Do your job, crybaby.

'What's Jonas's job?'

'Protecting the boy, of course. That's always been his job. He's the protector.'

'And who are you?'

There was a long pause.

'I am the killer.'

Something in Lucy hoped she might be dreaming, but the cold and the smell of mouse droppings and the knife in her hands all felt very real to her. She made a huge effort to speak simply and gently so as not to provoke the person who was no longer her husband.

'Who is the boy?'